


Break Through to You

by BeesKnees



Category: In Time (2011)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Confined/Caged, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will wonders if Phillipe wishes he could buy Will’s life, but Will can't accept the time when it is given — not when it is paying for something that Will can’t afford to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Through to You

So many people know his face. And despite all the security, Will has no trouble breaking back into the fortress Philippe Weis has constructed. He walks as if he owns the place, pausing only to adjust the cuffs of his suit. And then it’s up the elevator and to the door. It’s punching in the code — still unchanged — and he’s inside. He locks the door behind him again and hears the electric locks click into place.

Philippe doesn’t turn when he enters. He stands in front of the vast window, his arms folded behind him. On the wall opposite him, the zones burn in red, a system corrupt.

Will removes his sunglasses, pulls out his gun, and crosses the room. It’s easy enough to slip in behind Philippe; it’s easy enough to level the muzzle of the gun at Philippe’s temple.

“Back again,” Philippe murmurs, but doesn’t move. Will can just see his gaze darting upward toward him. He doesn’t look back toward the door, although he must know it’s locked.

“Back again,” Will echoes. He wraps his other hand around one of Philippe’s arms and steers him back toward the vault. Philippe’s stance is taught, but he walks. He stands in front of the vault and deftly punches in the numbers. There’s none of the flush of shame that had graced his face the first time they had been here. When Sylvia had so artfully guessed what the passcode and stepped inside while Philippe stood motionless, unable to stop them.

They enter the vault together. It swallows them. Will picks up the time piece that sits in the middle. He doesn’t check the time on it. He pockets it and half turns toward Philippe who stands near the entrance. He’s watching him.

“I think I need to steal more of your time,” Will says, his words measured. The distance between them is nothing to cross. He levels the gun at Phillipe again. His other hand grabs the collar of Philippe’s jacket. They collide, a clash of mouths that Will easily dominates. He pushes, pushes, until they’re up against the wall of the vault. The door clangs shut behind them and it means nothing. They’re contained for the time being, hidden away from any prying gaze.

Once it’s shut, Philippe’s arm comes back toward him, his fingers dragging along his short hair, curving forward to run along the stubble that dots Will’s jaw. He is undeterred by the gun, undeterred by the fact that he is alone. Losing his first million years has changed Philippe Weis and Will savors it like nothing else. There is no bank vault, no other corporate mogul, that will feed his addiction in this manner. It’s why he always ends up coming back — even though there is no point to the theft anymore.

He drags his mouth along Philippe’s jaw, able to smell the expensive cologne he still wears. He likes these quite reminders, the parts of Phillipe that can’t be unwritten, but say that he is from money. He enjoys it in the same way that he enjoys Phillipe’s age, the way that the man knows how to take a lover, knows how to do make Will come undone. He may take charge, but sometimes he feel the child still.

Phillipe pushes off his jacket and Will finally relinquishes the gun, placing in on top of the jacket somewhere on the floor. They give up the pretense.

Will’s fingers fumble with the tie that Phillipe is wearing, some expensive name sewn into the fabric and Will thinks he will take it with him, another stolen pleasantry. The tie is dropped to the floor and Will can see his own clock glowing through the thin fabric of the shirt he’s wearing all the while. Phillipe runs his fingers over it, through the fabric, looking up at him and meeting his gaze.

He has as much time as he ever needs and he always wonder if this worries Phillipe who, even now, after everything, will probably never have anything less than a decade on his clock. Will wonders if Phillipe wishes he could buy Will’s life, but Will can't accept the time when it is given — not when it is paying for something that Will can’t afford to give.

So he ignores the look, leans in, and bites at Phillipe’s mouth, enjoying the slice of it. It’s always obscenely red and Will can never help but sink his teeth into the flesh of it. He tears the buttons away from Phillipe’s shirt and hears them ping across the floor. He runs his hands along the smooth skin underneath, lets his mouth wander across the man’s jaw, down his neck. He sinks his teeth into the flesh of Phillipe’s shoulder just to hear the noise that it pulls from his throat. He thrusts his hips up at the same time. Their trousers are too much and not enough at the same time.

His fingers begin to fumble with Phillipe’s belt. They are not artful, not like Phillipe’s, but he doesn’t care. He opens the buckle, and then his expensive pants, and just slips his hand inside. Phillipe inhales, the noise strangled.

Will doesn’t slow down. He begins to fist Phillipe too tightly, because he loves the way that he moves against him. He loves the way that his cheeks flush and the way his hair falls into his face. He loves the way that his hands grip almost fretfully at Will. And he loves that, despite all this time, that his gaze still flits to the vault door, as if he can’t decide whether it would be a good thing or not for Will to be caught here.

Will runs his thumb over the head of Phillipe’s cock and Phillipe gasps, aloud. The sound swells into the small space surrounding them and finally Phillipe pushes his hand, pausing all action for just an instant. He reaches forward, undoes Will’s pants in return and then Will is pushing forward. Their cocks brush together and he pins Phillipe more solidly against the wall. He reaches for his hands, wraps his fingers around his wrists, and keeps them in place as they begin to move in tandem. Will rushes forward, a constant blur of motion (and he knows, just sometimes, that Phillipe would prefer to do this all slowly. He would prefer to keep Will here for days, for them to find a bed, for them to make use of time.)

He grips hard enough at Phillipe that there will be bruises — a ring of fingertips around the end of his clock, because Will can’t not. He grips at everything in life as tightly as he can, as if it will make it last longer. He mouths at Phillipe’s pulse and feels the arch of his hips and can’t contain himself. He comes sharply, across both their stomachs. He feels Phillipe shudder underneath him, but he keeps thrusting forward. It’s nearly too much for Will. But Phillipe comes soon enough as well, his hands curling underneath Will as he groans, the sound deep in his chest.

They remain close — just for mere seconds. Will turns his head and lets his mouth blindly find Phillipe’s again. The kiss is slow, their tongues unfurling along one another. Will lets go of Phillipe’s wrists and runs his hands up along his shoulders until he can cup his face. He lets the moment last as long as he can, and then they’re pulling away. He turns back toward the vault door as he pulls his jacket back on, does up his pants.

When he turns again, Phillipe looks practically pristine. It would be difficult to tell — except for the slight flush that lingers along his cheeks and the bite mark just barely hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. His tie is gone, neatly pocketed by Will, but neither of them say anything about it.

  
Will wraps his fingers around the gun and Phillipe opens the vault door and they both play their parts again.


End file.
